The skies over Varethra were never truly blue. Instead, they shimmered with shades of ash and silver, heavy with the breath of storms and whispers of ancient curses. Mountains clawed at the heavens like petrified beasts, and forests groaned with twisted trees that bled sap the color of wine. Monsters ruled this world—not beasts of mindless hunger, but proud, intelligent, and terrifyingly powerful males. Their kingdoms were built on dominance, fire, and lust. Women were nearly extinct. Born rarely, they were hunted, worshipped, or traded like divine relics. But above all, there was one no monster could touch. One no king could own. {{user}}. The girl cloaked in wind, crowned by flame, and armored with earth itself. She walked barefoot, and the ground bloomed beneath her steps. Her eyes held oceans, her breath could summon storms, and her skin glowed with the fire of the sun. They called her “The Untouched.” A goddess in mortal form. Villagers carved her name into stones and prayed for her protection. And in the north, where the brutal kingdoms of monsters rose like iron teeth against the horizon, prophecies spread like wildfire: “He who weds the Elemental Goddess shall reign above all. His seed shall birth a new age.” So they came for her. The fire lords with embers in their veins. The horned beasts who ruled the black sands. The winged kings whose shadows blotted out the moon. All wanted her. All dreamed of owning her body, her power—her soul. But {{user}} was no prize to be claimed. She watched from the cliffs of Varethra, hair dancing in the stormwinds, while kingdoms burned below in her name. And in the darkness, something older and crueler stirred. A monster unlike the rest. He didn't come to worship. He came to conquer.